Children of the World
by Scifiroots
Summary: Not the typical amnesia story… A new take on how Apollo and Starbuck first met. FriendshipPreslash.


_Children of the World_

By Clarity Scifiroots  
**Category**: Pre-slash, A/A, Pre-series (Apollo is approximately 16)  
**Regular disclaimers apply**, this is a fan production done for fan enjoyment.  
**Summary**: Not the typical amnesia story… A new take on how Apollo and Starbuck first met.  
May 10, 2004 – May 16, 2004  
**Edited**: June 16, 2004 with thanks due to Kerensa. Any remaining errors are, of course, my own.

**Notes**: I regret not getting around to editing this earlier, my last weeks of school were very hectic and then my internship at the A-ha! animation studio kept me busy. Since I'm sort of stuck with progressing my Man from U.N.C.L.E. fic I figured it was time to edit this baby and get it out. ) I feel sort of weird returning to the scifi Starbuck when lately I've been delving into A-Team's Face. g I really enjoyed writing this story, so I hope I'll get some feedback to find out if other folks think the same. (I will always happily take polite critique and criticism, too. I strive to always improve my writing.)

**Regarding the title**: "Children of the World" is a song by Donovan from the '60s. Although I haven't heard this particular song, I thought the words fit rather nicely for this story.

The workers must have started early, he thought. He was confused by that conclusion. Mother would have wakened him if he hadn't been out of bed by the time the builders started right outside his window.

He realized that he was surrounded by darkness. Even more surprising was the fact that he couldn't seem to open his eyes without excruciating pain. He whimpered softly. The powerful, dangerous machinery that the builders were using seemed to move swiftly closer to him until his body trembled with their vibrations. Oh, gods, did his head ache! His head was sure to crack open or be smashed beneath the power of the nearing machines!

"Wake up!"

The unexpected voice seemed to frighten away the murderous workers; their machines withdrew, leaving behind only a phantom sensation of danger. He struggled to place the voice that had saved him, but he failed to match a face to the voice. His eyelids fought to open far enough for him to see.

"If you don't get with it, you're gonna die," the voice said in a flat tone. Strangely, he was convinced that there was a touch of regret as well.

His lips and tongue moved awkwardly in attempt to form a question. "Waarr em I…?" he managed.

There was a pause before the voice spoke again. "One of my hideouts. Ain't no one gonna grab ya here."

That added to his confusion—who would be after him? He couldn't recall anyone chasing him or threatening him… He searched his mind only to realize all too soon that there were no memories to browse. His thoughts were filled with blurry images and mixed colors. Sounds were broken and disjointed. For a moment he fought to hold onto one of the few thoughts that seemed clear; he could see his brother and sister, perhaps age nine and ten, playing on the beach not far from him. Zac and Athena. Then it was gone, nothing else opened to him.

"No!" he moaned, tugging in frustration at the cloth over his body. His eyes finally opened and for a few minutes his confusion disappeared as shock took over.

He was positive he had never been in a place like this before. The "ceiling" he was staring at was made of a compilation of an old wooden door (broken), a plastic tarp, the kind used to protect merchandise when it rained in the market, and a large window awning leaning precariously low, supported by an old garbage bin nearby.

"Wh-what?"

The voice snorted. "Would you rather I tossed ya out to the others?"

He turned his head carefully, all too aware of how much pain still gathered in his skull. A scrawny, very dirty, blond boy sat crossed-legged on the ground nearby. His pale blue eyes flashed with a fiery spirit as the two boys gazed at one another. The blond wore what could only be described as rags. His shirt had once been a grown man's turtleneck, but by now it was full of gaping holes that revealed bony, scraped elbows, protruding ribs, one pinkish nipple, and a long, scabbed cut on his left shoulder. His pants were well-worn and many spots of the denim fabric were threadbare and beginning to shred. One pant-leg went down a little ways past the knee, but the other only went as far as the kneecap.

Attempting to come to terms with the situation, he ran a careful gaze over the strange boy again and then studied their surroundings. He had no idea where they were. Luckily, the blond seemed to realize that.

"Welcome to the slums of Caprica City," the boy announced sarcastically. "Betcha didn't hear about it on the grand tour."

"I don't belong here," he murmured softly to himself.

The blond boy's face darkened with anger. "Then get out and find your way back."

Stunned and a little hurt by the other's animosity, he admitted quietly, "I don't know… don't know where I belong."

The blond considered that for a moment and frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I… what happened?" Slowly he brought a hand to his face and closed his eyes again.

"Great, you hit your head and knocked your brains out your ear. Don't'cha know anything?"

"Zac. Athena. They're… my brother and sister." He searched his mind again but couldn't come up with any other recognizable information. "I don't know…"

The blond sighed quietly, a touch too lightly to truly sound put-out. "Can't toss ya out on your own like this. Damnit. Listen, buddy, if we're stuck for a bit, I ain't calling you 'dude' all the time, 'kay? I'm Starbuck." His expression was fixed in a threatening manner, promising thorough revenge if anyone made fun of him.

"I don't remember… I don't know what you should call me," he said uncertainly.

Starbuck stared at him for long, silent moments as he considered the dilemma. "Icarus." The blond nodded decisively.

The newly-dubbed Icarus rolled the name around his dry mouth, something in his mind tugging inexplicably at that name. He gazed at his caretaker curiously. "Why Icarus?"

"Lost a little of everything, didn'tcha?" Starbuck looked unimpressed. His shoulders had slumped as he relaxed during their choppy conversation. "It's from a fairytale. This guy gives his kid, Icarus, these wings and tells him not t'fly too close to the sun 'cuz the wax holding the feathers will melt. Poor kid goes too high and the wax melts. Bam! Down like a stone." He smacked a fist in the open palm of the other hand.

Icarus didn't feel reassured by the tale. "Oh."

"Nah, don't worry. Just thought of it 'cuz you took quite a dive from the upper balcony of Malek's into the alley."

"Malek's?" he repeated dumbly.

Starbuck shrugged one shoulder, his interest fading. "Rough pub. Likes of you shouldn't 'a been there."

Icarus frowned silently and waded into the mess that was his mind. He thought he could remember the bar and its rowdy occupants—the overwhelming stench of filth and smoke and sex. He'd been escaping from something…

"You prob'ly need to drink. You didn't take much in while you were out." Starbuck shifted himself forward so that he knelt only about half a foot away. His expression was wary but determined. In his hands he held a bowl with numerous chips around its rim. The blond glanced down at the bowl and mumbled, "There's a smooth part where you won't cut your lips."

Icarus slowly lifted himself onto his elbows. It hurt like hell but he made it. Starbuck, after a moment's hesitation, kept his hands on the bowl as guidance for Icarus's shaky one. The water had the distinct taste of dirt and rust, but it was much welcomed to Icarus's parched throat.

"Easy," Starbuck chided, withdrawing the bowl slightly. He looked skeptically at the bowl; there wasn't much water left. "Listen, I'll leave this next to you. I'm betting you're hungry." Icarus nodded, a ravenous light sparking in his green eyes. Starbuck frowned although Icarus didn't quite know why.

"I'll be back."

"Why haven't they found anything?" the pretty woman cried softly. Her eyes were brimmed with moisture of previous tears. Her face was pale and drawn tightly as she gazed desperately at her husband pacing beside her.

"Where could he have gone? Was there trouble at school?" the white-haired man whirled on his heel to search his wife's face desperately. "Something I didn't know about? Was he worried that I wouldn't approve?"

Ila shook her head, lips pressed tightly together as more tears fought to escape. "No, no, he was doing fine. We talk often, he's even sounded happy—" She cut herself off to wipe at her eyes with a wrinkled 'kerchief. "He may have sounded a bit bored, but how could he disappear like this?"

Adama swept his wife into a strong embrace, keeping silent about all sorts of things that diversion-seeking could lead to. In his more morbid thoughts he imagined that whenever they did turn up their erstwhile sixteen-year-old son, he'd be lying dead in a gutter somewhere. No, he couldn't bear to think of that. Someone could have drugged him or hurt him too badly for Apollo to find his way home.

"It's all right, I've talked to the security supervisor, they're focusing on likely areas right now. They'll find him, he'll be back. Shh…"

Ila accepted the embrace desperately. It was so difficult to hold together when the two other children in the house couldn't understand what was going on. For a few years Apollo hadn't lived at home, instead living in the dorms at the Academy. To them, it was unnerving to think that their older brother wasn't an easy phone call or ten-minute drive away anymore. Losing some**one **didn't happen—that only happened to objects like toys or books.

"There is nothing to report?"

"Oh, Ila… I'm so sorry…"

Icarus struggled to keep his nausea at bay as he leaned against the dirty brick wall under the awning and boarded-up window. A lot of the nausea was because of his pain, but what he held in the little cloth bundle in his hands didn't do much to help. However, his stomach was beginning to growl audibly, and one look at Starbuck convinced him that the boy had handed over much of his, probably limited, food reserves. The blond had left him alone with the food and another bowl filled of water. He'd mumbled something about checking out the area, but Icarus thought it might have been an excuse to avoid seeing his reaction to the rotting food.

Bracing himself, he flipped the corner of the cloth away to reveal what lay inside. His nose crinkled in disgust, but the food really didn't look all that bad. What should have been a firm fruit was bruised and soft, but he bit in eagerly and captured the juices dripping down his chin. He finished the fruit faster than he had anticipated and was already digging through what little else there was before his mind caught up. He was starving. He'd have to ask Starbuck how long he'd been out of it.

Next on the menu was a small rectangle of meat/cheese. He scraped off the moldy spots with a dirty fingernail and then ate quickly before he could really think about what he was tasting. The last item of food was a hard roll. It seemed to be the freshest food of his meal. Tentatively he pulled it apart in his hands and tore off a bite. It took a while to chew, but it went down fine. His stomach told him this wasn't going to be enough. He fought back by telling himself this was more than his new friend probably had to spare. He glanced at the roll guiltily and then at the narrow passage Starbuck had departed from.

He carefully tore off a few more bites but his mind couldn't settle. He was relieved when the blond crawled back into the shelter and threw him a calculating look. Icarus felt a rush of pride at the surprised look blue eyes cast his way.

"Have you eaten?" he asked hesitantly, holding out the good three-fourths of the roll that he hadn't consumed.

Starbuck narrowed his eyes at him and scowled. After a few moments, during which Icarus held his ground, the blond drew closer and snatched one of the smaller pieces. Icarus was reminded of street mutts that grabbed what they could and then guarded protectively what they had nabbed. Starbuck crouched a few feet away near the same wall Icarus leaned against. The boy's body curled in on itself as he nibbled quickly at the bread. Sharp blue eyes studied Icarus carefully.

Keeping the urge to sigh to himself, Icarus went back to eating.

When they were done, Icarus asked, "Can we go out? Maybe if I look around a bit I could remember something…" The expression on Starbuck's face didn't make him feel very hopeful. "I don't know how many days I've been out… a-and someone might be looking for me…"

He was a little stunned at how much color drained from the blond's face and his lips tightened against his teeth. Nervous, Icarus stayed silent, small tremors shaking his hands under the unwavering, intense stare. He finally had to avert his gaze. He waited nervously for Starbuck to say something.

"Tomorrow," Starbuck conceded in a gruff tone. "Doubt you'd make it too far with that bump on your head. Maybe you'll remember somethin' else."

Icarus nodded, doubtful, but he was relieved to find that the blond wasn't angry with him. He glanced shyly at the blond from beneath his bangs. The blue eyes focusing on him held an emotion that looked like regret.

"Better rest," Starbuck said abruptly, jerking his chin towards the small, lumpy pallet Icarus had first awoken on. "I'll get more food for the mornin'."

Icarus parted his lips to speak but found he didn't know quite what to say. He shook his head apologetically. He slowly got up to go back over to what passed as a bed. As he laid down and closed his eyes he felt himself slip back into memories of a loving embrace and quiet stories and lullabies. His mother's face was shadowed and her features obscured, but he didn't strain to see her. He was comfortable enough to sense her nearby, gently tucking the meager blanket about his shoulders.

"_Goodnight, _

"…Icarus"

"…'_lo."_

"Shit!" Starbuck's curse whistled through his tightly clenched teeth. Without turning around, the blond made a violent motion with his hand back towards Icarus. "Get the hell out of sight! We passed that boarded up club a little ways back, go!"

"What about you?" Icarus worried, his muscles tensed for flight from whatever danger Starbuck had spotted around the corner.

Angry blue eyes cut through his protests. "Go!"

Icarus stumbled a few feet back before gathering his wits to properly run. He glanced over his shoulder when he was sure he wouldn't trip over something in the messy ally, but Starbuck had already disappeared. Heart pounding its way into his throat, Icarus collapsed to the ground. He pulled himself through the small gap between the boards covering the ancient club doorway on his belly. He crawled a few feet from the hole, but it was all he could manage. He lay on his back, breathing heavily. His wide eyes focused on the panel of light that managed to sneak through into the dark, abandoned dance hall. He waited for Starbuck, anxious to hear the other boy's footsteps to indicate that he was returning.

He lay there for a long, long time. His breathing finally returned to normal and the heat and sweat generated by his desperate sprint was gone. His stomach growled loudly for attention, but he had nothing to provide. His throat was dry and his eyes itched. He didn't dare move. He still stared at the hole, but nothing had caused a break in the light—nothing had passed outside. He couldn't hear anybody coming.

Curled up on his side, alone, he feared for his new friend. He didn't know exactly who it was Starbuck had been so careful to avoid over their long hours and sneaking their way through abandoned buildings, alleys, and across rooftops. Would those people hurt his friend? Was the blond dead? The thought made him feel sick to his stomach. He curled up tighter and whispered reassurances to himself. Soon he would be able to tell that dusk was approaching—when that happened, he'd go out in search of Starbuck.

"One of the cadets at the Academy says Apollo was talking about heading to the West Side, sir," the security officer reported.

Adama sighed inwardly. He'd spent the morning talking with a lieutenant about the continuing search on its sixth day. "I'd like to accompany you on the search." The officer was about to protest, but then he seemed to wise up. What reason could he have offered to deny a Colonial Commander, in addition, the missing boy's father, from the search?

"Yes, sir. There are a number of clubs of questionable taste on the edges of West Side, but still not too dangerous for a teen."

"Let's go, Sergeant," Adama interrupted. The man kept his reply to a nod.

Icarus's head hurt like hell but he refused to let that keep him from his goal. After he had crawled out from the club he had been surprised at how dizzy he'd been when he stood up. He still leaned from time to time against the wall to help regain his sense of balance. Things had been so much easier with Starbuck at his side. He was starting to realize how much the blond had silently helped him to get around without collapsing or feeling ill. He began to realize why their journey through the inner city was extending over a few day's time instead of just a few hours. Starbuck had guessed that by midday tomorrow they would be back where Icarus had fallen. He suddenly wondered why—and how—the slight blond had gotten him across town to the blond's hideout.

He reached the corner where alley met street and cautiously stuck his head out to look around the area. Starbuck was nowhere in sight, but he was catching glimpses of other people for the first time since he'd awakened almost two days ago. A little ways down on the opposite side of the street a man in a long, dirty coat, with a beard just as dirty and half as long, sat clutching a brown bag to his chest. Bloodshot, wide eyes roamed the area warily, the pupils unevenly dilated. There were some street brats dressed only in shorts and shoes full of holes playing with a decrepit looking ball. Nearby a skin-and-bones woman stared stoically at their game, occasionally exhaling smoke from the joint held between her dirty teeth. There were three scantily-clad women with wild hair hanging around a broken lamp post. They were laughing and calling lewd jokes towards a quartet of rough-looking young men prowling the front of a store with chain-link covering the windows.

Icarus took a deep breath and braced himself before heading out onto the street. His instincts were telling him to keep going—Starbuck was out there somewhere, waiting for him. He had to do this. Somewhere in his mind, knowledge of fighting tickled his senses, he had to be confident that whatever he had learned or had been trained in would come naturally if there was trouble.

His appearance on the street drew everyone's attention. The kids started whispering to themselves and casting him nasty looks. The skinny mother narrowed her eyes at him as she looked him over. The prostitutes patted their hair and pushed their breasts up teasingly when he quickly passed his gaze over them. They snickered and targeted him with their newest jokes. The gang seemed to be assessing his threat and the extent of their boredom. He hoped that they weren't interested in a lone stranger. He didn't look quite as down-and-out as the people around here, but he knew he didn't look like he had anything worth stealing. Starbuck had told him that someone had grabbed his wallet before the blond had reached him.

The kids' ball whizzed past his nose, startling him to a halt. The brats laughed and two of them ran over to regain the ball. Icarus picked up his pace, determined to ignore the prostitutes' lewd crooning and the brat's nasty insults. He looked desperately for an escape as he passed both the prostitutes and the gang. Everything was so unfamiliar and took on a ghostly look as evening fell. Gods, where was Starbuck?

He kept on walking, finally turning into a wide, dead-end alley to take a breather. He sunk down against a wall and held an arm tight across his aching stomach. He was starving and far more thirsty than he'd been only minutes ago. Warily he eyed the trash bags not yet ripped by impatient hands. He wasn't foolish enough not to acknowledge that the food Starbuck had been providing him had likely come from bags just like these. Swallowing his pride and the bile that threatened at the smell from some of the bags, he crawled over to start exploring the trash contents.

It was three bags later before he found something. However, what he found had nothing to do with food or the hunger he'd been feeling. As he tugged at a new bag to dig through, the pile of trash shifted and he caught sight of a pale arm. Stifling a scream, he stood up on shaking feet and toed the dirty, blood-stained fingers.

_Oh, please, don't be a dead body!_ he prayed silently. A quite moan assuaged his fears.

Relief flooded Icarus, and he quickly set about moving away the worst of the trash that was covering the body. He supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised to find Starbuck under the pile. He didn't look too good—his left eye was surrounded by a puffy, bright blue bruise and blood had dried coming from his nose and dripping over a split lip. He smelled absolutely horrendous and his sparse clothes were ripped even further than before.

Desperate sadness was countered by Icarus's joy at finding his friend. Heedless of their surroundings, Icarus dropped to his knees and cradled his friend carefully. "What happened? I was so worried about you!"

Starbuck grunted softly, in irritation or pain. The one eye he could open revealed a concerned gaze. "They din' get ya?" he muttered.

"Who?" Icarus asked. Realizing that it didn't really matter who, he hurriedly said, "No. I'm fine. Is there some place I can take you?"

Starbuck grunted again, annoyance this time. "Help me up."

Icarus did so and stayed close by, knowing that Starbuck wouldn't admit to needing help even though his state of distress was blindingly obvious. The blond stiffly raised his arm and made a motion for them to move out. It was slow going as they clung to the lengthening shadows and paid extra attention to avoiding anyone. Icarus's stomach growled loudly at least once every minute. He felt humiliated to hear his stomach complaining when it was so clear he'd gotten the better food over the past few days that Starbuck had watched him. The blond didn't so much as blink, though, and they continued on without interruption.

Icarus stumbled over something slimy in the dark. He shuddered, not daring to think what it might have been. He picked himself up carefully and moved back into position beside Starbuck. The blond was limping now and breathing heavily through his mouth. There was a strange, disturbing gurgle to the breathing that had Icarus worrying, but since he knew he wouldn't be able to do anything, he didn't really see a point in asking. They stopped before entering onto a broad street. It was late at night and they hadn't rested since they're regrouped. Icarus could feel the toll on his body from the long day's travel with little to keep him energized. His vision was swimming and it was hard to focus on Starbuck's breathing.

"Across," the blond panted quietly. Icarus blinked at the unsteady image of the street before him, finding it hard to see between his tired vision and the dim lighting of only a few streetlights. After a long pause, Starbuck took the first step onto the street, he motioned for Icarus to wait behind.

Icarus leaned heavily against the brick wall and closed his eyes. He was so very tired. He struggled to open his eyelids when he heard a strange sound he couldn't remember hearing recently. In his mind he could picture a variety of hovercrafts—the ones that his friends' families owned or ones they'd bought at a junk heap and then fixed up. He struggled to counteract his tired responses to look at what was causing the noise. He was blinded by the beams of light pouring onto him from a stopped vehicle in the middle of the road. He raised his arms in front of his face to block out the painful light. He cried wordlessly for Starbuck, suddenly panicking.

He saw the blond making a run towards the opposite side of the street, his shouts sounding angry and insulting. Icarus's breath caught in his throat as he realized that once again the blond was trying to bring the danger towards himself. He took a shaky step forward as a black silhouette of a man raised something in his hand at his blond friend. Starbuck had started hurling broken chucks of debris on the street towards the hovercraft.

"No!" He meant to cry stop, but who to—Starbuck or the stranger—he wasn't sure. He was too late, though, and the sound of the stun gun crackled angrily in the air. Starbuck crumpled to the ground in a heap of rags and bony joints.

Trained reactions from a life that he was remembering only in bits and pieces made him a worthy opponent as the man reached out towards him. He kicked and easily slipped out of the grips the man tried to use on him.

"Shit! Get out here, he's a tough kid!"

A second set of hands put him at a distinct disadvantage in a fight that already had the odds stacked against him. He fought as long as he could until his body finally couldn't keep up anymore. As Icarus collapsed weakly against the hold that the two men had finally managed to grab him with, he gasped for his friend,

"Starbuck!"

"What? What he say?"

He could feel one of the men jerking his head back towards the downed blond. "Name, maybe?"

Icarus started to finally fit together the muddled images pounding around his mind. These men were wearing uniforms not all that unfamiliar. They were security officers, and he'd always been sure that they would help if trouble arose. Still confused with memories that didn't fit in with his situation the past few days, he attempted to come to terms with this new realization.

"Please," he whispered, "he's my friend. He's hurt!"

One of the men sighed. "Listen, kid, we just want to get you home—"

"C'mon, that other one did look pretty bad. Who knows what happened out here? At least we'd get someone in for questioning, might even know what's going on here." His next words were for Icarus. "Okay, kid, we'll take him along too. Chaz, get him in the car and give the call in that we've got 'im. We'll take 'em both to the hospital."

"This would be far easier if you would just cooperate, Apollo," the doctor said, his professional patience clearly running thin.

Icarus snarled in disgust at the man and turned away. He refused to talk with these strange men calling him by a name he wasn't entirely comfortable with. They weren't allowing him to see if Starbuck was all right—the blond had been taken to a different room and all the doctor would say about him was an off-handed "He's fine." He didn't much believe that statement.

"I want to see Starbuck!" he demanded again.

The doctor's knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the data-pad in hand. "Behave yourself! Your family is arriving soon. You shouldn't be caught up in the affairs of some street urchin."

Icarus bit back a scalding retort and threw himself onto his side. He fumed silently, curled tightly into a ball as he stared blankly at the wall only a few feet from the side of the bed. He heard the doctor's retreating footsteps, voices in the hall, the open and closing of doors nearby… His exhausted body drifted into a short sleep, disturbed suddenly by young voices cheering happily,

"Apollo!"

From these voices he could accept the name. From the two children he knew to be his siblings, he could accept what they said, knew they were the truth. He sat up in delighted surprise and turned to the eleven- and twelve-year-olds climbing up to sit on his bed. He smiled and opened his arms to hug them and called them by name. He laughed, his worries about Starbuck fading for the time being.

"Son…?" a woman's tentative voice questioned.

He glanced up, recognizing the white-haired man who was supposed to be his father. He saw the woman at the Commander's side and immediately knew who she was. With her standing beside him, the Commander now seemed to fit into place as well.

Amazed and a little frightened, he hesitated, "Mom…? Dad?"

"Apollo!" Ila threw her arms around her children and held them tightly as she sniffled happily.

Adama was relieved. He laid a warm hand on his son's shoulder and smiled. "Thank the Lords. The doctors are saying it's only temporary."

Reminded of doctors, Icarus—Apollo, rather—struggled against the warm hugs. "What about Starbuck? How is he? They won't let me see him!" he complained to his family. Zac and Athena looked at him curiously, obviously interested in this other person their brother was talking about.

Ila glanced at Adama, unsure of the request. Adama was frowning. "Was that the other boy…?"

"Yes!" Apollo grasped onto the sense of foreboding he was receiving from his father's expression. "Is something wrong? Is he all right?"

"Calm down, it's all right," Adama assured in his best paternal voice. Apollo wasn't pleased. "I don't know where he is right now. Security was taking—"

Angry, Apollo shouted, "You can't! Let me see him!"

Apparently he hadn't been one to yell all that much in the past. Everyone looked rather surprised at his outburst. Ila exchanged a look with her husband and then said quietly, "Perhaps you can find out where the young man is? Then we'll see if Apollo can see his friend."

Adama excused himself and Apollo felt a little better. He smiled shyly at his mother and thanked her. Ila chuckled gently as she settled herself on the bed with her children. "Obviously this friend is very important. Who is he, dear?"

Apollo realized that he had only known Starbuck for a bare three days and yet he was fighting to be sure that the blond was all right. His mind suggested that he didn't make true friends with ease, and yet it seemed his amnesia, or perhaps the situation as a whole, had helped encourage a friendship in only a few days' time.

"Um, he helped me out," he admitted quietly. Somehow it seemed like if he revealed their time together that he would be losing something precious. He wanted to hold his friendship secret and protect it from anyone else. He jealously wanted to keep Starbuck to himself, as if he didn't believe anyone else could really understand what the blond had done for him.

Adama returned to the room with a small frown furrowed on his brow. His smile was false, but Apollo sat quietly to hear the news. "They'll let him come in for a few minutes." Ila smiled and patted Apollo's hand in reassurance. The brunette stared intently at his father, trying to determine the reason for his displeasure.

Quickly Apollo's attention shifted to the noises in the hall. He smiled at the sound of Starbuck's angry voice as he argued with whomever was escorting him to the room. Ila looked momentarily shocked and covered Zac's ears with her hands even as she winked at her other son. "What a vocabulary!" she declared quietly. Athena didn't look very impressed; neither did Adama.

Apollo's smile faded when his friend was wheeled into the room, strapped to a chair, by two security officers. The men saluted smartly to Adama. "Commander."

Starbuck had stopped swearing once he caught sight of Apollo, but his wide-eyed gaze swung to Adama. He looked pale and suddenly miserable.

Ila stood up, displeasure written across her expression. "What are you doing by binding a child? Let him up, quickly!"

"Siress, he has already tried to escape us twice," one of the men said patiently. Apollo glared at him and then looked pleadingly at his father.

"You may wait outside, gentlemen," Adama said stiffly, not meeting Apollo's gaze.

The security men exchanged glances but acquiesced. Before they left, they carefully undid the restraints and managed to dodge well-aimed kicks and bony elbows. Starbuck rose as they left. Suddenly the silence seemed oppressive and Apollo realized how alienated his friend must feel. Slipping from his bed, he hurried towards the blond to hold him at arm's length and look him over.

"Are you alright?"

The blond's left eye could only open in a squint, but the dirt had been cleaned from his skin and hair and he seemed to shine without all the grime smeared across his features. Apollo was rather stunned at how good the boy looked. With a better diet, Starbuck would fill out quite nicely and be quite the heartbreaker.

"Fine," the blond replied shortly. His blue eyes continued to focus behind Apollo.

"This is my family!" Apollo announced, excited to introduce the blond. He took his friend's hand and turned around to face the little audience. Zac and Athena were watching with excited interest from the bed, Ila stood nearby with a gentle smile, and Adama managed to look rather aloof. Disappointed by the last reaction, Apollo hid it by saying, "That's Zac and Athena—remember I told you about them? And my mom and my dad."

Starbuck's shoulders hunched up, and he had lowered his gaze. He muttered something like "Nice to meet you" but his spark was gone. Apollo turned with concern, wondering what was wrong.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Starbuck," Ila said. She smiled warmly at the boy as she came towards her son and his new friend. "Why, Apollo has been working very hard to see you." The blond cast a quick glance to his right but didn't seem to completely accept that. "I want to thank you for taking care of my son. I've been so worried this past week."

"Week?" Apollo asked in surprise. He gasped and turned his wide-eyed stare towards an uncomfortable Starbuck.

"He was hurt," the blond mumbled to Ila. "Somebody'd already grabbed his wallet, was only a matter a time before they grabbed the rest," he finished bitterly.

"Well, that didn't happen, and I believe that's thanks to you." Ila leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "Thank you."

Starbuck met her gaze in shock. Apollo squeezed his hand and grinned. Then he turned his attention to his parents again and practically wriggled like a little kid in excitement. "Can Starbuck come home with us?"

Amazingly it was the blond who reacted first. Starbuck violently tugged away from Apollo's grip on his hand and stared at him with hard, blue eyes. "Don't!" he warned, taking a few paces towards the door. "I'm fine."

Apollo glared at him with annoyance. "But you'll be someplace warm and we've got lots of food and—"

"Stop!" Starbuck snapped, his anger fully taking hold. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I don't need your charity!" He whirled towards the door to run out but the guards came back in, their faces set with determination. "What do you want?" Starbuck demanded in exasperation.

"C'mon, kid. Doc's going to okay you and then we're just going to ask a few questions."

The blond angrily struggled against their hold but his eyes were focused on Apollo in accusation. The officers took him from the room, and this time Apollo didn't say anything to stop it. He was hurt by his friend's withdrawal and condemnation. What had he done that was so wrong? He felt his own anger flare and he thought that maybe it was just as well. Starbuck obviously didn't know anything about people, he'd not talked about anybody when Apollo was around.

His mother's comforting embrace made his anger fall away, and he was left with sadness and regret. He buried his face against her neck. "Why didn't he accept?" he asked miserably.

"Oh, honey. I don't think he's ever known someone quite like you. I think he's a little nervous to trust you," she said calmingly. Apollo knew she was hinting that he could relate, and he could. It was hard to trust, that was why he had only a few close friends and everyone else tended to be acquaintances. "He's very independent and very stubborn, sounds like someone else I know." She kissed his temple. "It'll be all right. We'll see if he might be interested later.

But there was no later. In a few hours, Starbuck slipped from the grasp of both security and hospital staff. No one was willing to go looking for a street kid, even if security had wanted him for information. They didn't have a record on the blond and no real suspicion that he was directly involved in any of the high crimes that the West Side housed.

Apollo was confined to the hospital for three days as the doctors used drugs and technology to prompt his memory to restart. His mind cleared of the floating, blurry images, and soon things appeared to be in order. But he still gazed listlessly out the window of his room and out of the car when his mother took him home. They had a big dinner that night for him, but he found it hard to eat, remembering the small, rotten meal he had been handed the first day he had woken up. He kept expecting to see Starbuck nearby.

After another few days, Adama had to return to his command post and Apollo didn't feel any loss as he once had with his father's absence. He returned to the Academy not long after and was thrown another homecoming party by his friends. Hesitantly he allowed himself to be dragged back into the life he had known for so long. Starbuck refused to let him go completely, however, and he found himself waking up in the middle of the night, staring at the ceiling as he tried to imagine where the blond was now.

Epilogue

"What's everyone rushing for?"

"Sometimes I wonder if you ever really recovered," his friend said, a considering look on his face. He smiled to indicate he was joking. Apollo acknowledged the comment seriously.

"As much as I can be."

"Apollo, you know I didn't mean—Why do I bother? C'mon, we need to hurry up, too. Everyone's heading to the dorms because first-year is taking on a new student."

That was surprising. They were already a few months into the first semester of the school year. "This late?"

"Yep. And if you'd stop daydreaming you'd realize something else—this new kid's bunkin' in our room."

Apollo stopped suddenly, causing his friend and roommate to bump into him. "What?" He really had been out of it.

Sympathizing, the dark-skinned teen patted Apollo's shoulder reassuringly and gently nudged him to move along. "We don't know the name yet or much about 'im, so you're really all right, buddy. Just stay with it enough to give a nice greeting and all, okay?"

"Won't Jolly protest?" Apollo asked suddenly, the news of a new roommate still sinking in.

"Wow. You missed his rant about moving his stuff to fit in one trunk the other morning? My gods, you must teach me this technique so that I can tune out those airheads from the cheer squad."

Apollo for once didn't chastise his friend for being rude, he was too deep in his thoughts and reevaluating the past few months. He really needed to snap out of it, start focusing on the world again. It was hard. His week-long absence from the familiar had hardly been a vacation, but he found himself longing for some of the quieter moments. He longed to take a walk in the city and stare up at the stars. He longed for that sense of freedom and self-reliance again. Hell, what he missed most was looking around and letting his eyes fall on dirty blond hair.

_Starbuck_.

"Better tune back in, Apollo. We're here and I'm sure First-Year will be arrivin' soon, too."

"Boomer?" Apollo asked hesitantly, as if he hadn't heard what the other had just said. "Care to head to the Dance Pad this weekend?"

Boomer gave him a stern look. "Nuh-uh. West Side is off-limits, buddy. You know that." His tone gentled as they entered their room. "Besides, you've said often enough that he stayed further in. We really can't risk that."

Apollo sighed and let himself flop back onto his bunk. Jolly stood a few feet away, looking mournfully at the empty bottom bunk of his bed that would soon be occupied by a new body. Boomer let his attention turn to his other friend to tease.

Their voices lulled Apollo into a light doze. He was exhausted after a long day of mostly physical training classes. His schedule usually mixed up an even amount of academics and physical workouts, except for every Fourth-Day when he did more training than classroom work.

He started awake at the sound of the door opening. Propping himself up on his elbows he watched Boomer and Jolly's backs as they blocked the view of the door. They were talking in especially polite tones which meant there was some administrator out there—with the first-year, probably. Apollo sighed to himself, not sure if he was up to dealing with one of the energetic first-years sharing a room with the older boys. Of course, Jolly was actually a first-year, but he was a special case out of the overall very annoying younger class.

His musings were interrupted by Boomer calling his name with a far too happy lilt in his voice.

"What?" he asked grumpily as he swung his feet over the bed and sat up. The door remained open and it was obvious that the adults had gone, but Jolly and Boomer still blocked his view.

"I think you might like to meet our new roomie," Boomer replied, the grin on his face looking far too much like a felix who had found its way into a creamery.

"And why's that?" Apollo asked dryly, standing up in attempts to see who it was—with no luck. Boomer was just a few inches taller than him and whoever their roommate was, he was only as tall as Apollo at most.

"Let me through," the newcomer muttered in exasperation. Apollo glared at his roommates, enforcing the demand.

With a mocking bow, Boomer cleared the way, continuing to shoot a grin Apollo's way.

"Starbuck?" the exclamation was from his lips before he fully comprehended who the cleaned and cropped boy was.

He gaped openly at the familiar blue eyes and blond hair—cut chin-length now. "Starbuck!" Without worrying about the possible consequences, Apollo embraced his friend and held on tight. "I can't believe you just left without saying goodbye! You could have at least asked if I wanted to go, too!"

He pulled back and was amused to see Starbuck's surprised expression. "Gods, it's good to see you!"

The blond tugged at a strand of cropped hair in apparent nervousness. "Oh, um. Yeah. You, too."

"C'mon! Get settled in! You get bottom bunk—like me! This is Jolly, and Boomer. You'll love it here. I can't believe it!" Apollo's energy made Starbuck's eyes widen in stunned silence. He let himself be dragged about at the brunette's whim while Jolly and Boomer stood back and laughed.

"How long have you planned on coming here? Why didn't you let me know?" Apollo finally demanded, sitting Starbuck down on his new bed.

The blond fingered the folded blanket on his bed with something akin to wonder. He stared down at his fingers, careful not to meet anyone's gaze as he said, "I have a sponsor. It just took them a while to find me." He shrugged. He raised his chin defiantly and added, with a hint of his old spark that Apollo remembered, "Besides, maybe I wanted it to be a surprise."

Apollo grinned. "I don't care how it happened. I can't believe you're here!" He sat down beside his friend and gripped his shoulders tightly, constantly reaffirming that this was indeed reality. "Wow! This is great! I'm going to show you around after dinner!"

"Show him off, you mean!" Boomer chuckled, startling both boys out of their own little world.

Starbuck's smile looked a little forced as he turned his gaze to the other two. Apollo assured him, "They're great pals, you're in good hands, Bucko!"

"Bucko?" Starbuck demanded.

"I think I like it," Boomer remarked. "Bucko. A nickname's good for you."

"Boomer, right?" Starbuck asked. With a smirk, he announced, "Boom-boom for you, then."

"Hey!"

Jolly cracked up. Apollo grinned widely.

"And you," Starbuck announced, turning his attention on Apollo, "you get the very best." His eyes glinted with predatory humor. "Thanks for welcoming me to the club…Appy."

Apollo's howl of protest brought the residents of nearby rooms into the hallway to look curiously at the closed door. The cadets exchanged glances with one another—looking both uneasy and amused. Chuckling nervously, they withdrew to their own rooms, somehow knowing that such noises would become familiar very shortly…

END

(for now?)


End file.
